Touring the Facility
by swatkat
Summary: And besides, I'm your boss. I could be sued for sexual harassment,' Cuddy will say, her tone entirely somber, and Foreman will be left wondering if he merely imagined the twinkle in her eye. [ForemanCuddy, 5388 words, for the foremanfest]


**Title:** Touring the Facility  
**Fandom:** House, M.D  
**Pairing:** Foreman/Cuddy  
**Words:** 5388  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** 'And besides, I'm your boss. I could be sued for sexual harassment,' Cuddy will say, her tone entirely somber, and Foreman will be left wondering if he merely imagined the twinkle in her eye.  
**A/N:** Not mine, merely playing. This is my entry for the **foremanfest**, prompt at the end. Many, many, many thanks to **hihoplastic** for her infinite patience with my whining and her insights on the dreaded first draft, to **leiascully** and **roga** for their magnifying glasses and red marker pens. Title from Cake's 'Short Skirt, Long Jacket'. Concrit is cherished - I'm not known for my unique snowflake soul.

--

'And besides, I'm your boss. I could be sued for sexual harassment,' Cuddy will say, her tone entirely somber, and Foreman will be left wondering if he merely imagined the twinkle in her eye.

--

Sometimes Foreman feels like he's in one of those nightmares, the ones where he's trapped in a lunatic asylum and he's the only sane person around. Sometimes, Foreman knows he's in one of those nightmares. Now, for instance: standing helplessly in the middle of the Radiology lounge, watching his lunatic boss duke it out with his patient's lunatic mother while the patient in question is _fucking dying_ and they are nowhere near the right answer.

Every time the same drama, variations on a theme, and Foreman's fucking sick of this.

Familiar _clip-clop_ of heels on the floor. There's Cameron, looking harried; followed by Cuddy, looking even more harried. A little angry.

'What is going _on_ in here? House!'

No, scratch that. She's more than 'a little' angry. Foreman mentally thanks Cameron for having the presence of mind to rush to Cuddy's office as the drama started getting out of hand.

'Excuse me – ' Cuddy begins to say.

'I will not put up with this! I will have my son removed! I will sue this hospital!' patient's mother screeches, growing increasingly hysteric, and for once Foreman agrees with House: the woman is an idiot.

'Yeah, well, your precious son is gonna _die_ – '

'House, _shut up_,' Cuddy snarls. And a little softer, to the mother, 'Mrs. Kositsky, could you please calm down? This is a hospital. We have emergency patients here, _including_ your own son.'

Mrs. Kositsky has the audacity (or, stupidity, one might say) to look offended, and say, _still_ at the top of her voice, 'This man has been _insulting_ me, _repeatedly_, and you're asking me to _calm down_? Who the hell are you to ask _me_ to calm down?'

Foreman winces. He's aware of a sudden hush in the lounge. Out of the corner of his eye he can see every nurse and attendant around looking their way.

Cuddy says, her voice cool and calm: 'I'm Dr. Cuddy. I run this hospital.'

The woman deflates at that, instantly, and Foreman can't help but derive a sadistic pleasure from the expression on her face.

'Your son is very ill. He might be dying,' Cuddy says. Her voice practically drips with concern. And the mother seems to be buying it – the same woman who, when _Foreman_ tried telling her the very same thing, nearly scratched his eyes out. 'I understand your position, but I'd like to assure you that your son is in very good hands. If Dr. House has offended you in any way, he will apologize – '

'_Hey_!' House interjects.

Cuddy ignores him, and continues, '_As_ I was saying, if Dr. House has offended you in any manner, he will apologize. But it is absolutely necessary that you co-operate with him and his team – it's the only way we can figure out what's wrong with your son.'

Mrs. Kositsky gulps, and nods obediently. Foreman knows that nod. He's seen a hundred people do it a hundred times in the past year.

A glance from Cuddy, and Cameron takes over, murmuring apologies as she herds the woman towards her dying son's room, sympathetic hand on her shoulder. It's amazing.

'Ding, Dong, the Witch is gone!' House declares, triumphant.

Foreman bites back his grin as Cuddy turns to face House. 'In your office. Now. Don't come out till you've figured out what's wrong with her son. We'll talk about this later.'

'_Later_,' House says, smiling at her in a way that can be only termed a leer. 'Oh, have I been too naughty, Dr. Cuddy? Are you going to _punish_ me?'

Bait, Foreman thinks. He does that to her, all the time, for some insane reason comprehensible to House alone.

'_Now_, House', Cuddy says, firmly.

Well, apparently she's not willing to fall for that today. Good for her.

House looks rebellious, but he does as he's told.

Later, when Foreman's in the lab, running blood cultures, he finds himself replaying the scene in his mind: the ease with which Cuddy handled the situation; the grace with which she said, 'I run this hospital.'

Revision: so maybe he's not the _only_ sane person around, after all.

It's a comforting thought.

--

Marcus fell ill one day, suddenly, when Eric was ten. Dad rushed him to the hospital and Eric went along later, with his mother.

The hospital smelled funny. Its walls were made of glass.

No one would tell him why Dad was looking so angry. Why Mom wouldn't let go of her rosary and why Marcus kept saying, in a raspy voice, 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

--

_E-S-----O----Y_

Foreman's immersed in his crossword – a habit he's picked up from Chase lately – when the door swings open and he hears a familiar, terse voice say, 'Where's House?'

Foreman looks up. Blinks. 'Uh, I'm not sure.'

They discharged Mrs. Kositsky's son a couple of days ago, and they haven't had a patient after that. He and Chase tried this morning, hunting down perfectly suitable patient charts from all over the hospital, but House dismissed them all with his patented 'Don't care', and Foreman's given up after that. Cameron's at the clinic, Chase was called over to NICU for assistance, and Foreman's here, in their lounge, sitting around doing absolutely nothing. Well, he's solving crosswords, and Chase would probably call that Important Business, but it still counts as 'nothing' as far as Foreman is concerned.

'That seems to be the answer everywhere,' Cuddy says.

'Have you tried the cafeteria?' Foreman suggests.

'He's not there,' Cuddy replies grimly. 

It's still afternoon, so it's unlikely he's left. House likes to stick around – watch his soaps, annoy Cuddy. If not the cafeteria, then Oncology – but Cuddy would've known. Coma guy's room, the morgue, one of the exam rooms in the Clinic – House could be anywhere.

'I thought he did his clinic hours this morning?' Foreman enquires, because that's where he met him last, too busy with his damn Game Boy to be bothered with trivial things like dying people.

'He did, actually,' Cuddy says, sounding slightly stunned at her own words. 'It's not about that. We're getting sued again.'

'Well, no surprise there,' Foreman grins. It's amazing, really, just how many of their patients end up suing the hospital.

'Yeah,' Cuddy grins back, a small self-deprecating grin that makes Foreman say, on an impulse, 'Is there anything I could do to help?'

She looks a bit taken aback, and Foreman hastens to elaborate, 'I'm not… doing anything.' Shrugs.

'You could, actually,' Cuddy says, thoughtfully. 'What are your thoughts on paperwork?'

'Tiresome.'

This time she smiles; a genuine, amused smile, and, well, Foreman believes in being productive. That's what he's here for. Productivity. 'You'll probably regret this later.'

--

Cuddy briefs him about the situation on the way to her office.

There's a malpractice suit, he learns, and Schiller from Legal has already got most of that covered ('Don't mind if he's a bit rude to you,' Cuddy says. 'He just doesn't… like Diagnostics very much.'). Mrs. Kositsky also seems to be under the impression that the hospital has been guilty of criminally overcharging her, which is why her insurance company is asking for an audit of her son's hospital bill. Wherein Cuddy requires his assistance.

'You'll have to co-ordinate with Billing on that one,' Cuddy says. 'Insurance agents are pretty persistent, so we must be prepared.'

Foreman nods obediently, slightly ashamed by his own very vague knowledge about how these things are done.

In her office he's introduced to Harry Schiller, whose expression changes from 'polite' to 'barely restrained loathing' when he hears Foreman's designation. There's some legalspeak, from which Foreman gathers that Mrs. Kositsky _might_ be willing to settle, but only in exchange of a rather hefty sum from the hospital and a written apology from Dr. House.

'That's unacceptable,' Cuddy says, in a tone that brooks no argument. Foreman is handed a couple of folders, and instructed to go over to Billing: 'They'll tell you what you have to do.'

'Right,' Foreman says. There's a lot he needs to learn here.

The location of the billing department, for starters.

--

He will be blunt. 

He will spend a lot of time deliberating on the matter; trying to figure out the right approach. He's not given to sharing, but this will be one of those moments he will wish for some outside input.

Of course, Chase will suggest flowers and a pretty smile, Cameron will suggest blackmail, and neither of them quite work for Foreman.

House, in all probability, will suggest something that involves sleazy bars and alcohol, and that's not Foreman's style, either. Not that Foreman will ever ask House for advice.

In the end, he will go with his own instinct. He will be blunt.

--

Billing, Foreman discovers, is on the ground floor, beside Medical Records, and not somewhere alongside the main Financial Office, which is on the fourth floor. It is overworked and understaffed, and is headed by a Felicity Hartman, a curvy, middle-aged blonde with great regard for Dr. Cuddy and an equal degree of scorn for Dr. House (her expression changes from 'friendly' to 'horrified' when Foreman introduces himself).

'So what do I have to do?' Foreman says, impatient. The sheer number of files and folders in the place is overwhelming. Foreman's got a feeling he's not going to enjoy whatever Felicity has in store for him.

'Yes. Right.' Felicity's expression of horror is replaced with one of business-like efficiency. 'Now, let me see –'

The next few hours are a blur: running from Billing to Medical Records and back (there's a reason, Foreman realizes, they're side by side); occasional coffee breaks, wherein Foreman clings to his coffee cup like lifeline; and papers, endless papers, patient charts with smilies on them and pointless inventories of how much _soap_ was used by the patient (Felicity glares when Foreman asks her how anyone can verify if the amount cited is correct. Foreman thinks it's a valid question).

At the end of the day, when Felicity _finally_ releases him from her death clutches, it's after six and Cuddy's blinds are half-drawn. He hesitates, just for a moment, before knocking lightly on her door, and pushes it open when he hears her sharp 'come in'. Cuddy's on her computer, still at work.

'That was a lot of paperwork,' Foreman tells her, as he hands her the files.

'I did say you would regret this later on,' Cuddy says, with a wry smile. 'Thank you. I know this isn't the most exciting job in the world.'

Foreman grins. 'It's been an educational experience.' And because he's been wondering about it all day, says, 'Don't you think they're a little understaffed down there?'

'I don't think, I _know_ they're understaffed,' Cuddy says, with a long-suffering sigh. 'Why do you think I sent you down there?'

A pause, and then he blurts, 'So why don't you do something about it?'

'Hiring new people requires money,' Cuddy sighs again. 'We don't have any.'

It _has_ been an educational experience, Foreman thinks later, stretched out on his couch, idly flipping through the latest issue of _Brain_. There are things he takes for granted in the hospital; little things like patient bills, or basic supplies, or even _soap_, for the patients. It takes an army of people – an almost _invisible_ army – to keep things running smoothly and in place so that he can be doctor and get on with saving lives. It takes people to keep this army running: people like Cuddy.

There's a lot he needs to learn here.

At his age, Cuddy was already Dean of Medicine. Second youngest ever, first woman – the stuff of hospital legend.

No mean task, that.

--

After that, Foreman finds himself running errands for her more often in his free time.

It mostly involves a lot of paperwork (House's undone paperwork, for instance), a lot of time at Medical Records (he's on first-name basis with most of them now) and occasional forays into Legal, where he's quickly learnt to ignore the collective glare that he receives every time he walks in (Stacy is the only one who smiles at him). There's one very memorable incident where the nurses almost boycott Diagnostics (again) over something House did. Cuddy sends Foreman to defuse the situation, who manages to talk them out of it after a lot of hand-wringing and some helpful input from Wilson.

There's always something to do in the hospital, and Cuddy seems happy to have an extra pair of hands around.

--

Eric was top of his class. Again, ahead of all the rich white kids and their ilk.

There were no murmurs this time; no behind-the-back whispers saying 'affirmative action'.

--

'What's with you and Cuddy these days?' Chase says during lunch one afternoon. It's a lovely, sunny day, and they're outside in the shade, enjoying the golden warmth and the breeze. 'You thinking of going into administration or something?'

Foreman stops mid-bite. 'What? _No_,' he says, a little more vehemently than he intended to. He'd figured people would get curious, but it's annoying all the same.

'So you just like doing paperwork? Right,' Chase snorts.

'I don't _like_ doing paperwork. I think it's a… necessary evil.'

'And _you're_ doing it because…?'

'Look, I'm a doctor. I _like_ being a doctor,' Foreman says, not bothering to hide his irritation.

'Cuddy's a doctor too,' Chase points out. 'She runs the hospital.'

'And how many patients does she usually get to see?' Foreman sighs. 'I work  
for this hospital, I figured I'd get to know how things are done here, you  
know?'

Chase looks unconvinced. Foreman can't really bring himself to care anymore.

_Of course_ he's thought about administration – thought about the prestige that comes with it; the responsibilities. He'd be good at it. But medicine's his passion and he's a damn good doctor, and he doesn't have a reason to stop doing that. Yet.

Doesn't mean he won't learn when the opportunity's landed in his lap.

Complacency is one thing Foreman can't afford. No one can. Chase doesn't get that. Frankly, Foreman doesn't think he ever will, and well, it's not Foreman's job to explain the facts of life to him.

--

'Isn't there a way to reduce all this paperwork? Digitize some more, maybe?' Foreman suggests one day. 

He's bolder now with her, now that he knows that his suggestions are actually appreciated. It's more than he can say for his own boss, who doesn't so much appreciate suggestions as merely deigns to take them into consideration, all the while making perfectly clear what he _really_ thinks of you.

Which is to say, Cuddy has better manners than House, and it's refreshing. 

'Easier said than done,' Cuddy says, putting down her pen. 'Designing an effective system that works for us is expensive and time-consuming. Our IT department has been working on a few things, but it's too early to say.'

A few days later, Foreman finds himself at IT, drawing up a progress report on their one-window admission procedure at Cuddy's behest.

'I'm surprised you remembered,' he tells Cuddy afterwards, and she says, smiling, 'It's my job to remember.'

There's that thing again, that quiet competence Foreman hopes to achieve someday. It's why he puts up with House, in spite of all his B.S. It's why he keeps coming back. 

--

'Aren't we _cheerful_ today.'

House is on his seat, feet propped up on his desk and listening to his iPod. Foreman ignores the comment and concentrates on gathering his things together. It's time to leave.

'You're _humming_,' House says, ignoring the fact Foreman _ignored_ his previous comment, and so Foreman says,

'Not everyone's a miserable bastard like you, House.'

House is in late today, Foreman thinks. Usually he's out like a shot by five. Earlier, if he can sneak past Cuddy and her spies.

The bastard's right, though, he _is_ cheerful today. It's been a good day. Beatrice – their newest patient – went home this morning, her sarcoidosis healed and her vision restored.

'Tell Dr. House I said thanks,' she said before leaving. Foreman's left that part to Cameron, who's the only one of them who still believes such things actually matter to House.

In the afternoon he was summoned by Cuddy. Not for more paperwork, astonishingly, but for a consult. Case was simple enough, if somewhat unusual – which is why she'd asked for the consult, he supposes.

'Adenoma?' she had said, thrusting her patient's CTs under his nose.

And so it had been: pituitary adenoma, causing excessive TSH secretion. Benign, of course. Nothing a little surgery wouldn't correct. It was the TSH secretion that was highly unusual. Foreman hasn't seen many instances of this, so yes, it's been a good day.

It was a pleasant surprise, watching Cuddy with a patient; the obvious delight she took in doing this. Foreman hasn't seen her practice much, except in the Clinic, or in one of _their_ cases, when she's overriding House – and well, the last one doesn't usually turn out very well.

Makes one wonder, why she'd leave this for something else. It's… interesting.

'Why,' House says, loudly, snapping him out of his pleasant, House-free reverie, 'have you been sucking up to Cuddy?'

'I'm not sucking up to her,' Foreman says, rolling his eyes. 'What I do in my free time is none of your business.'

'You're sucking up to her,' House says. 'It's interesting.' As if that should explain everything.

'It's none of your _business_,' Foreman says, a little more forcefully.

'You're ambitious,' House goes on, thoughtfully tapping his cane. 'You want to get to the top, and you think sucking up to the hospital administrator is your way to the top.' And then, with a smirk, 'It's either that or you're trying to get in her pants.'

'Is there a point to this?'

'Or… you think _sleeping_ with the hospital administrator is your way to the top. _Nice_,' House says appreciatively.

Foreman gives up, because there really is no point to this. Walks out, as smooth as he can manage, not bothering to say good night.

'Sucking up' has got nothing to do with it and he's not trying to get in her pants, even if he happens to find her attractive. He's not waiting for a sexual harassment suit to happen.

He finds himself thinking of her wry, knowing smile, and tries not to be disturbed by the fact when he realizes what he's thinking about.

--

Eric Foreman had heard of Lisa Cuddy much before he'd actually met her. Most people had.

He did not expect the woman who greeted him on his first day at PPTH, resplendent in her pearls and her pink suit.

'Dr. Foreman. Pleased to meet you,' she said, extending her hand. Her tone was crisp. Her grip was firm and confident.

He didn't know _what_ he'd expected, really, except that she wasn't it.

'Dr. House… may not be the easiest person to work with, but I think you'll find it a rewarding experience,' she said, smiling.

Foreman realized he was staring, and looked down, hastily.

--

'About the one-window admission thing,' Foreman says, sipping on his coffee. The couch in Cuddy's office is nice and comfy. 'Grant says they can begin beta-testing in another few months, if they accelerate a bit right now.'

Grant as in Joel Grant from IT. Who, for some reason, has taken quite a fancy to Foreman, given the number of unnecessary updates and offers to socialize he's been receiving lately.

'And did he mention something about why the computers in the reception still have 'naughty college girls' pop-ups in them?'

'No, I don't think he did,' Foreman says, grinning.

'Thought so,' says Cuddy, sipping on her own coffee. 'I guess I'll just have to remind them again.'

And by 'remind', she means 'threaten them with dire consequences until they grovel'. The thought makes Foreman smile again.

It's nice, Foreman thinks, sitting here in office on her comfortable couch. What was to be a minor discussion about some things she'd asked him to do has turned into an informal coffee break of sorts, and he's beginning to think Cuddy's enjoying this as much as he is, if only because she doesn't get to have that many informal coffee breaks. It's comfortable, and when the _hell_ did he start being so comfortable around her?

He's spared having to think too much about it when Cuddy says, 'You're good at this. Have you ever considered administration?'

'I…' Foreman's speechless for a moment and Cuddy says,

'You've been taking an interest. You must have thought about it. Or do you really just like doing paperwork?' she adds with a smile.

He's thought about it. He's been thinking about it a lot, lately, since his little chat with Chase.

'I wanted to see how things are done in the hospital,' Foreman says truthfully.

'And you've seen it. What do you think? And, for the record, I am not offering you a new job. But I'd like to know.'

'I've thought about it,' he confesses. 'But it would cut down on my practice, and I'm not sure I want that to happen.'

'That's what we all think,' Cuddy says. She remains quiet for a moment, and then she says,

'But there are other… incentives. The job has its own challenges. Rewards.'

'I know. It's just – I've wanted to be a doctor since as long as I can remember.'

He doesn't add, and then I nearly didn't become one, I still feel like pinching myself sometimes, I'm afraid everyday that it'll all slip away somehow.

'I've wanted to be a doctor since I was twelve.' She sounds very far away when she says that.

Why did you leave, Foreman wants to ask. He can't, though, not when she's looking like that: pensive, melancholy; almost a little lost.

They sit in silence, for a while. It's a strange kind of silence, Foreman thinks. Strange, and fragile, and he doesn't know what to make of that. The tendons in her wrist flex out at a perfect angle and he stares, before realizing that he's staring and looks away hastily.

The door crashes open.

Familiar _thump_ of the cane, and then House declares, dramatically, 'Stop corrupting my employees! It's unethical, and _highly_ inappropriate for a woman your age. So is that blouse, by the way.' 

Foreman grips his coffee mug tighter. _Always_ with the dramatic entrances, the bastard.

'And a hideous orange vehicle that is literally death on two wheels is so appropriate,' Cuddy drawls. She is her familiar self once more, Foreman notes, looking at House in that half amused and exasperated way she often does.

House makes a ridiculous _who, me? inappropriate?_ face; Cuddy arches a graceful eyebrow in response. Foreman suddenly feels like a voyeur somehow, like he's intruding on something and he shouldn't _be_ here.

He's not sure where that comes from. It's irritating.

'So sorry to interrupt your little nookie with my young padawan here,' House says, not looking even remotely apologetic. 'I need him for some really important doctorly things right now. Dying patients and all that.'

'You have a patient?' Cuddy says, at the same time as Foreman says,

'You couldn't have paged?'

'I could, but then I'd miss out on the human connection. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.'

'You can have him,' Cuddy says, waving a dismissive hand at Foreman. 'We're done talking.'

'Relax, he can always service you later,' House tells her jovially. Foreman considers beating him on the head with his own damn cane. 'As soon as we're done saving lives.'

'Do we really have a patient, or is it just you being a nosy _jerk_ again?' Foreman says once they're out of Cuddy's office, with an extra special emphasis on the word 'jerk'.

'You're pouting,' House says, nicking a lollypop from the nearest candy jar. He tears the wrapper open and puts it in his mouth, ignoring Nurse Previn's familiar withering glare. 'It means I was right.'

Foreman clenches his fist and does not deign to reply.

--

'Fifty bucks says they did it in college,' Chase said, grinning.

'You're on,' Cameron said, reaching for her purse.

'Foreman?'

'What? I'm not betting!' Foreman said, not bothering to hide his disgust. Cuddy was upset, and a little insane, and they had no idea what was going on with Alfredo. This was not the time to be speculating about House and Cuddy's love lives.

'Oh come on! You've _never_ wondered why they're so nasty to each other?' Chase said.

'As a matter of fact, I haven't,' Foreman said, shaking his head. 

Workplace gossip. He couldn't care less.

Nonetheless, he couldn't help asking, after they'd successfully broken into her house because House found her spare key in less than twenty seconds, 'So how did you know about Cuddy's key?'

Chase smirked, and Foreman pretended he didn't notice at all.

--

Turns out they really do have a patient. Who nearly dies _twice_ in an _hour_. House grows more manic with every passing minute, and Foreman is too busy doing his job to think of anything else.

Almost. 

House growing manic means House ordering difficult, potentially life-threatening tests and procedures on their patient. Which means Cuddy has to step in, sooner or later; try and put a stop to the madness. And so Foreman finds himself heading for her office again, trailing after House, who walks inside unceremoniously even though the blinds are drawn, and declares,

'I need a heart.'

'Don't have one,' Cuddy replies, not looking up from her file.

'I already know that. But unlike you, poor Waldo here cannot _function_ without one, which means he's going to _die_ unless you get him one,' House says, conversationally.

'You can't just walk in here and demand a heart transplant, House,' Cuddy says. 'There are procedures. A mile-long waiting list.'

'Patient. _Dying_,' House says. Cuddy looks at Foreman, who has to agree with House, 'The patient has severe cardiomyopathy. We've tried everything.'

It's surprisingly easy, Foreman discovers, to look her in the eye and talk about the patient. As if there's nothing else on his mind.

'I'll put him on the list, and schedule a transplant committee meeting in the morning.'

'The patient won't _survive_ till the morning!' House yells.

'Put him on bypass! Make sure he survives!' Cuddy says, matching his tone.

'His heart is a _symptom_, not the problem itself. His liver is enlarged, there's dilation in the digestive track – ' House stops, suddenly. Turns to Foreman and says, 'He ever been to South America?'

'Five years ago. Why?'

'Chagas' disease. Also known as American trypanosomiasis,' House says, slowly.

'His eyes are fine,' Foreman protests. 'No swelling of the eyelids. The most common symptom –'

'_Acute_ Chagas' is often asymptomatic,' House says, cutting him short. 'Or, it presents with symptoms that are not unique to the disease. His liver is enlarged. He has difficulty swallowing. Dilation of the digestive track, severe cardiomyopathy – it fits.'

It does, actually. Which means they can cure him.

'Run the cultures,' House says. 'And put him on Benznidazole. He'll still need the heart.' The last, of course, is addressed to Cuddy, who looks thoughtful for a moment – in the course of which House thumps his cane in an incredibly annoying manner on her carpet – and then she says, 'I'll see what I can do.'

It's not a promise, but it's evidently enough for House, who looks suitably appeased.

Foreman wishes he hadn't witnessed the look that passes between them before House turns and leaves. He isn't Cameron and he _doesn't care_.

But he can't help wondering, just a bit, and hates himself for doing so.

--

When they are in between patients again, Foreman goes down to ER. They can _always_ use an extra pair of hands at ER. Roberts greets him like a long-lost brother, and within minutes he's busy intubating a crash victim who's about to go into respiratory arrest.

He's a doctor. This is what he's here for, and whatever goes on in the rest of the hospital is none of his business.

--

In the course of the next few days, Foreman finds himself a lot more irritable than usual. He snaps at people, and is besieged by sudden urges to throttle random lovesick couples on the street, holding hands and smiling like idiots.

'Are you alright?' Cameron asks him, observant, as always.

He is inexplicably rude in response, and feels vaguely guilty at her stricken expression.

It's the weather, he tells himself; getting colder every day, and windy.

He's slightly alarmed one morning when he finds himself drinking dark, bitter coffee and almost sympathizing with House as he starts on his ritual morning monologue on the failings of humanity in general.

That afternoon, in the clinic, he makes a little girl cry.

That's when Foreman realizes that he has a problem, and that something needs to be done about it.

He tries not to be intimidated by the knowledge.

He has, after all, always been an ambitious man. There's no reason why he should stop being so now.

--

'You want to get dinner?'

Foreman ambushes her on her way out.

Blunt. It's what he does best.

So he isn't exactly prepared for the sudden tightness in his gut in the moments of silence following this very straightforward question. Cuddy looks slightly taken aback, and Foreman hastens to explain, 'It's late. I'm hungry. I thought you might be too.'

'Fine,' she says, with a shrug.

He drives her to this nice Italian place he knows. Dinner is pleasant, as he knew it would be. They talk about work, about their latest case and House. She doesn't ask why he's suddenly not interested in lending her a hand anymore, and he's more than happy to keep things that way.

She's more relaxed than he's ever seen her, Foreman thinks; outside the hospital, without the weight of the world on her strong, capable shoulders.

At one point, he makes her laugh. It transforms her; lights her up from the inside and everything around her.

Foreman finds himself thinking again of the grace with which she said, 'I run this hospital', and hastily looks down at his plate when he realizes that he's staring.

The drive back to her place is silent. It's a strange kind of silence. Not awkward, not… _comfortable_, exactly, and before Foreman can work out what that means they're in front of Cuddy's house, and she's saying 'come in' in that familiar tone of voice that allows no dissent.

'Wine?' Cuddy asks, once he's seated on her couch.

'Sure,' Foreman says, trying very hard not to think about the circumstances under which he was here the last time and failing miserably.

Cuddy returns with two glasses of wine and settles down on an armchair.

He feels awkward and tongue-tied, and tries to ignore that feeling of tightness in his gut again. And then Cuddy says,

'This might make things difficult at work,' thoughtfully sipping her wine.

Foreman nearly chokes on his drink.

Cuddy appears to not have noticed, because she continues, 'Things get complicated. People talk. And besides, I'm your boss. I could be sued for sexual harassment.' Her tone is entirely somber, and Foreman wonders if he merely imagined the twinkle in her eye.

A pause. Then Foreman says, 'I wouldn't sue you for sexual harassment.' 

'I'm relieved,' Cuddy says. This time he's pretty sure he didn't imagine the twinkle, because it's still there.

'There's always House,' Foreman offers.

'Yes, I'm sure he'll have a field day,' Cuddy says, her tone still dry. Foreman doesn't bother to point out that House has already _had_ a field day, because this isn't about House and Foreman's got better things to think about. 

He takes a large sip, and firmly puts his glass down on her coffee table. Gets to his feet.

_I was right_, he can hear House say, voice sharp and mocking. He hates it when House is right about him. _Almost_ right.

Cuddy is looking at him, glass in hand and a slight, knowing smile on her face.

Foreman decides he doesn't care.

--


End file.
